


Sutures

by Sixth



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alcohol, Blood, Fluff, Injury, Kissing, M/M, Needles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-14
Updated: 2015-03-14
Packaged: 2018-03-17 18:48:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,393
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3540188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sixth/pseuds/Sixth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After a hunt gone awry, Dean patches up his brother just like always.  It doesn't quite turn out the way it normally does, though.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sutures

Sam isn’t the seasoned drinker that Dean is.

Sure, he can hold a couple of beers, but it’s when he starts throwing back the shots that it gets to him. First he starts feeling hot all over, and then his ears go red. Dean, of course, thinks this is the most adorable thing ever, and that’s probably because it is. Especially when Sam nonchalantly tries to hide it by covering his ears with his shaggy hair. 

Bare chested with a fifth of Jack in one hand and blood dripping from the fingers of the other, Sam’s in no mind to be nonchalant just now. Dean’s too busy sterilising the suturing needle to notice anyway. 

“Y’okay, baby brother?” 

Sam looks sidelong at Dean, his dark hazel eyes finding the brighter, gold-flecked ones of his older brother. With the way he’s hunched over like this, perched on the end of the bed while Dean sits on the floor with their medical supplies strewn about him, they’re almost eye to eye. 

“Peachy.”

The corner of Dean’s mouth twitches as though he’s going to smile, but he doesn’t. If there’s one thing he doesn’t ever tease Sam about, it’s his phobia of needles. He’s an awesome brother like that.

“M’ gonna start.” Sam takes his cue and throws back another swig of Jack. It hurts all the way down and Sam grits his teeth against it, setting the bottle on the floor beside him. He flinches hard just as soon as Dean touches his shoulder, even though he’s still miles away with the needle. 

“Easy, Sammy.” Dean soothes. “S’okay. Though you know, if you’d kept your dumb ass out of the way, you wouldn’t be in this mess.” 

“Dean,” Sam warns through his teeth. 

“Hey, I’m just saying!” Dean shoots back, taking the opportunity of distraction to gently settle his fingers into place on either side of the wound traversing from the point of Sam’s shoulder to mid-collarbone. He’s lucky not to have broken anything, Dean thinks. “If you’d just done what I told you –“ 

“—Then we both would have had our asses nailed to the wall by that Wendigo because you wouldn’t have been able to take the shot.” Sam quickly interjects. Sam’s sudden bristling would have been the ideal time to take a bite of skin with the needle, but Dean hesitates a moment too long and Sam feels it. The room swims, and it isn't from the Jack or the loss of blood. 

“Easy…” Dean murmurs, gaze flicking up to Sam’s face. Sam’s eyes are shut, face drawn and pale. “Be all over soon tiger, promise.” 

The whiskey helps with the pain but rarely with the needle, and Dean hates that he couldn't protect Sam well enough to prevent him from having to be stitched up like this. It’s an irrational phobia; needles are insignificant compared to half the things Sam’s experienced. But it’s just one of those things, and if it’s all Dean can do to take care of Sam by making sure it's him holding the needle and being as gentle as possible? Then he’s damn well going to do it.

After the first stitch the pair falls quiet. It’s as easy a silence as it can be with Sam trying not to faint, and there’s only the sound of Dean exchanging tools or Sam’s heavy breathing. The one saving grace about Dean always being the medic is that he’s reasonably proficient with suturing, and though the wound is quite long and deep, his deft fingers make short work of it and before long he’s snipping the thread and gently wiping the blood away from Sam’s skin. 

Without even a second thought, as though it’s as natural as breathing, Dean leans up and presses a gentle kiss to Sam’s cheek – right as Sam turns toward him to say thanks – and it makes their lips brush. Both of them freeze. Dean can’t find anything smartass to say to downplay what just happened because he’s too busy being hyper aware of the fact that Sam hasn’t hit him, the fact that Sam hasn’t even moved. Sam’s looking at him with that super intense stare of his though, and Dean knows if he meets his brothers eyes his heart’s gonna stop. So Dean doesn’t look at him, he pointedly _avoids_ looking at him as he sits back on his haunches and begins packing up the supplies.

“Dean.” 

_Nope, nope, not listening Sam,_ Dean thinks to himself, wrapping up spare gauze. If he doesn’t acknowledge it, it didn’t happen, right? He hesitates on packing a bandage, wondering if he should put it on Sam’s wound, but it’s in an awkward spot and it probably needs some air to it anyway. Air. He could use some air right now, outside, away from Sam, whose skin is radiating heat like a furnace, whose skin tastes salty and slightly metallic from having wiped his cheek with blood, Sam –

 _“Dean,”_ Sam implores, and Dean has no choice but to look but up at him now, and his heart only stops a little.

“What the hell was that?”

“What was what.” Dean mutters petulantly, making it a statement and not a question. 

“You know damn well what.” The weight of Sam’s gaze increases by a thousand, and Dean wants so much to find an excuse to look away before he crumbles under it, but Sam’s holding his eyes and the guy has some kinda freaky superpower when it comes to eye contact. Besides, Dean loves Sam’s eyes, so the odds are already against him. He scratches at the back of his head. “C’mon Sammy…” Dean mutters.

“No. Answer me, Dean. If it’s nothing, then say it’s nothing.” Sam demands. Dean, of course, stays stubbornly silent.

“Well?” Sam presses. The alcohol is helping lower his inhibitions – Sam’s always been fine talking about Feelings (much to Dean’s chagrin), but this subject is different. It’s been an unwritten rule that neither of them talk about it, because talking about it makes it real. But now Sam can’t quite help talking about it.

“Because if you’re not going to say anything, that means it wasn’t ‘nothing’” (he mimics Dean’s voice when he says the word ‘nothing’), or else you would just say so. And since it's not ‘nothing’, then the least you could’ve done was meant it.”

Dean grumbles incoherently. 

“Sorry? Didn’t quite catch that.” 

Dean glares at Sam then, and it just makes Sam grin because he knows he’s got the upper hand. Dean reaches for the bottle of Jack and knocks a mouthful back as though he needs the courage. 

“Was just tryin’a make you feel better, and - and what do you mean _‘could’ve meant it’?!_ ” Dean flares indignantly. “I meant it!”

“You could’ve fooled me, mister ‘I’ll go for his cheek ‘cus that’s easier to play off if it goes bad.’” Sam laughs when Dean growls at him. 

“Yeah well if you weren’t such a pansy ass and hadn’t gone and got yourself hurt, maybe I could’ve…” 

“Could've what…?” Sam prompted quietly. 

Dean can’t say what it was he could’ve, because the words Just. Won’t. Come. It doesn’t help that when he glances back up at his brother, Sam’s doing that whole dewy doe-eyed expression thing that he does, and Dean’s heart decides it’s had enough of this and lurches forward in his chest; propelling Dean back up on his knees between Sam’s legs. Suddenly his mouth is on Sam’s, and Sam’s mouth is everything Dean ever expected or hoped it would be; the taste, the feel, and goddamn if his brother isn’t the best kisser Dean’s ever had, and that is saying something. What’s better is the way that despite how much his shoulder must hurt; Sam’s hands come to rest at the back of Dean’s neck and hold him close. 

Dean’s head is swimming when he reluctantly breaks the kiss. He rests his forehead against Sam’s, and for a moment they just stay that way, watching each other and breathing in the other’s breath. 

“You know, you really are a little bitch, tripping me up on words like that.” Dean says. 

“Yeah well, you’re a jerk. You coulda just kissed me like that in the first place and saved yourself the trouble.” Sam retorts smugly. 

When Dean kisses Sam again, he makes sure Sam knows how much he means it.

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first Supernatural fanfic, so constructive criticism would be adored. I didn't have anyone to proof for me, so hopefully there're no glaring errors anywhere. ^^
> 
> I can be found at impala-oneninesixseven on Tumblr, and am open to RP and collaborations!


End file.
